ANAHEIM - Nahla Kayali finds a line of clients - many speaking Arabic, some wearing head scarves - waiting to talk to her when she peers out of her Little Gaza office.

Volunteers buzz around the lobby, darting in and out of offices and answering phones in a cacophony of languages.

Even though the volunteers could help, many visitors want to speak to Kayali, 49. They have come to her before. Or, they just know she's the go-to person in the Arab-American and Muslim communities.

One by one, Kayali sits them down in the Access California Services office. In Arabic, she soothes three older clients worried about the U.S. citizenship test. She welcomes back a woman from Jordan, who brought her son for treatment of a heart condition earlier.

Kayali listens patiently to an Iranian woman, who explains in broken English that her husband needs a better medical plan. Kayali understands what the client needs because she's heard the same stories hundreds of times.

Kayali can relate to the clients at her agency because she, too, sought help in the past. But when she asked, no one was around to help.

BABIES AND SOAP OPERAS

As a 1970s teenager growing up in Syria, Kayali was fascinated by the image of the United States that she saw on "The Mod Squad."

So when her second cousin visited from Jordan to ask to marry Kayali, she was eager to go with him.

"Of course I was going to say 'yes' to anybody who was going to bring me to the U.S.," Kayali says.

She was 16. He was 24.

Before long, Kayali found herself the mother of two children, learning English by watching "General Hospital" and "All My Children" and from elementary school books.

"It was a culture shock here," Kayali says. "I was really scared to get into society. So the best thing to do is to have babies and watch soap operas."

But she did have higher goals.

BACK IN U.S. AS REFUGEES

Kayali's husband later got a job in Saudi Arabia, where Kayali translated and taught English. She had another daughter.

In 1989, the family moved to Kuwait, but stayed only for a year because war broke out. Already U.S. citizens, they packed their cars and drove to Jordan. The U.S. Embassy brought them back as refugees. Without jobs, the family had to get public help - the first time Kayali was exposed to services, including welfare, medical care and food stamps.

"I know exactly how it feels when in need," Kayali says.

By the time the family moved back, Kayali's marriage was unraveling.

With her parents and siblings, Kayali began Middle Eastern Frozen Foods Inc. - at the time believed to be the first U.S. processing plant solely for halal meat, which is slaughtered and prepared to Muslim standards.

She filed for divorce as the business was starting in 1992.

NOTICING A NEED

For the next six years, Kayali led the business, eventually getting a partner who promised to grow it into a global operation. But the partnership soured, ending the business.

By that time, the divorce was final and financial constraints forced the family to move in with Kayali's parents.

Some said she wouldn't make it. When Kayali turned to the mosque for help, she found there were no services, such as counseling or job referrals.

Then she had a thought: Other Muslims and Arab-Americans probably had the same needs. So, she set out to open her own social service agency.

After reading about a new state program providing insurance for low-income children, Kayali showed up at the program manager's office.

At that point, Kayali had not set up a nonprofit organization and didn't know how to do it.

"She came to me with nothing," says Judy Mader, the Healthy Families grant manager, who was in charge of local distribution of state funding. "But she had a dream."

DOING THE PAPERWORK

Mader wasn't sure if she should take a risk on Kayali. But Kayali came to her office at least five more times. Finally, as Kayali filed paperwork for nonprofit status, she made an anxious call to Mader. "Do I have any money or not?"

"I said, 'Yes, you do,' " Mader recalls. "And I was so benevolent to give her $2,000."

Kayali took that seed money, spending $150 a month for a tiny room with a chair and phone on the floor. When she found a desk outside by the trash, she dragged it in.

In the first month, she handed out fliers at the mosque and signed up two clients for insurance. Each week, she spent two days in the office, and the other three learning the system - attending workshops, visiting volunteer centers, networking with other agencies.

GRANTS AND DONATIONS

Within six months, her agency had signed up about 600 children for insurance, enough to persuade the state to give her a $65,000 grant to expand outreach, enrollment and retention. Other donations came, allowing Kayali to add services.

Last year, 2,582 clients sought help. Now, Access California Services is one of 14 such agencies in the nation.

As executive director, Kayali continues to add to the agency's array of services.

Most women workers at the agency wear head scarves or hijab - helping Muslim clients feel more comfortable. Three-quarters of the clients are Arabs or Muslims.

On a recent Wednesday, about 40 women came in for breast cancer screenings. Another morning, adults attended English classes. Agency workers speak Circassian, Armenian, Urdu, Spanish, Farsi and Pashto.

PRAISE FROM A CLIENT

Kayali says success stories keep her motivated.

One is Khadijah Dahlstrom.

The 54-year-old woman had a hard time keeping up with finances after the father of four of her nine children was deported to Lebanon. She was evicted and lived in motels, moving so often she didn't put her two youngest children in school. Without a car, she had trouble getting to her job as a home-care nurse.

Kayali got her a donated car and sent an employee to help enroll the children in school.

Dahlstrom says Kayali's attitude helped her.

"She had the experience, an overall encompassing attitude of confidence - like it's not much of a challenge. It will be taken care of, whatever that might be," says Dahlstrom, who now lives in a townhouse.

Last month, Mahar Alnajjar, who moved here from Syria, arrived at Kayali's office looking for help for his wife, who lost her memory after a fall. Alnajjar didn't know if she qualified for help or how to get it.

Kayali arranged to get his documents, then asked the office translator to go with him to sign up for disability payments and other financial help.

More and more, Kayali delegates tasks. She knows she can't do it all, and she wants the agency to thrive.

"I don't want this to end if I end," Kayali says. "I want it to be forever."

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